


Just a normal kid

by Eye_of_Purgatory



Series: Just a normal series [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Evil Peter Parker, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Psychotic!Peter Parker, Serial Killer!Peter, evil!peter, serial killer au, serial killer peter parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2020-10-19 17:27:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20660981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eye_of_Purgatory/pseuds/Eye_of_Purgatory
Summary: Peter Parker was always a normal kid, perhaps too skinny or nerdy, but normal all the same. Curly chestnut brown hair, brown eyes, adorable pink skin, nobody looked twice at the skinny white kid from Queens.





	1. And he makes a surface

**Author's Note:**

> I'm Sorry but I don't update regularly, so If you don't like that in fics you can stop reading now.

“Boss, there is an alert from the NYPD”

Tony looks up from the drone on the table top, brushing his hands on a rag he looks up. Peter’s curious eyes meet Tony’s own as words begin to line his lips. 

“What is it FRIDAY? Is it urgent or can we get back to work?” He asks, looking between his own little device and the web shooters in Peter’s hands.

The mechanical smooth voice takes a moment to respond, almost as if considering the right words, “There is a new serial killer in north Brooklyn with two previous victims, and one unconfirmed.” She chimes, voice almost laced with fear.

“Show me”

Images pop up all around the workshop, coating every one including the one in front of Tony. The screen lights up with a photo of a young man lying on the heavily snowed ground of an alley, almost a serene nature to the image. His body is entirely covered by thick winter clothes, all remaining is a face outlined by a nearly halo of brown curls. Tony’s eyes squint at the photo where nothing really seems wrong, flicking to all parts of the body to check for unseen injuries. Something drones on in the background but he is far too focused to give it any attention.

“What’s up with this FRIDAY, nothing looks wrong. Are we dealing with a ‘ _ magic _ ’ killer? Do we have to blame Loki for this?” he asks, “Hopefully Thor is available.” he mutters, looking skeptically at the screen.

“The victim had bruising on the neck, indicating that he died of strangulation.” Diagrams show up on the screen, the primary one a skeleton with little red marks on every bone.

“FRIDAY, don’t tell me the red marks are what I think they are.” Part of him doesn’t believe that it could be true, he needs confirmation, he needs to calm his subconscious.

“Yes Boss, the red marks are bone break marks. Every bone inspected has at least one break. The fault marks indicate that the method of breaking could have been pulling.”

“How does that even happen?” He mutters, eyes fixated on the photo of bruising palm marks on the neck that ended a man’s life. Peter walks up behind him to look at the screen as he does, Tony looks back and catches a tiny little quirk of the lips on Peter’s face.

He blinks.

  
  


Its gone.

\--

Mary Parker noticed her child was strange, but never really. Something always tugged at her senses, but never made itself known. Always sporadic moments that faded as soon as they arose, but this child made no strange behavior twice.

Mary had a wonderful year old child, her beautiful Peter. He was perfect in every way she could think of, but in a strange way. Her son never cried, threw fits, or demanded toys like other children. She took him to a child psychiatrist, dreading the worst and the extreme. She learned nothing, except a small theory that the psychiatrist had, perhaps Peter didn’t have enough interaction with other kids his age. She sent him to a daycare.

The night he got back he cried for the first time.

\--

“Peter has arrived.” FRIDAY chimes, starling me out of the engineering stupor to look at the kid. Black circles line eyes that seem slightly too heavy, I can feel myself frown.

“You should get more sleep underoos, spiderman can’t stop people while dead on his feet.” I hear myself mutter just barely, but Peter hears it loud and clear.

“He sure can Mr. Stark, tested it myself.” He hums, carefully placing his backpack next to the door before bouncing over to my side.

“Kiddo” I feel my voice drop to scolding parent levels and I almost feel bad, but his skin just looks so sickly. I resolve to stop scolding and just try to order some food later so he can hopefully stop looking so damn skinny all the time.

“Sorry missur stark” He mumbles out as a yawn overtakes him, but he stops in his path as he sees the perfectly replicated pile of femur bones that are piled in front of me.

“Uh Mister Stark?” He falters, eyes flickering between me and the frankly massive pile of bones-I did go overboard- that are laid on the table, an eye twitch not escaping my view.

_ That better not be a symptom of something. _

“Don’t worry Peter, I didn’t go grave robbing. These are synthetic.” I explain, but the concern leaving his face seems odd, “And I told you to call me Tony.”

“Don’t mind me asking Mr. Stark, but uhh - why?” he says, blatantly refusing my request in what seems like the nicest way possible.

“Researching something kid, how about you go repair whatever you’ve damaged this week while I work for just a bit longer.” I place one of the bones in a carefully measured and calibrated force gauges that FRIDAY deploys from the ceiling just for purposes like this.

“Is this about the Skelly dude or whatever the media is calling them now?” He questions, hovering far too close when I’d asked him to repair.

“He claimed more victims. One a homeless man nobody noticed was dead just laying there, must have been killed days ago maybe even a week considering this darned cold. And another man found today just laying there like he was asleep, his wife didn’t know she slept next to a dead man all night.” I outline, focusing my eyes at a point on the wall as my mind helpfully replays the surly horrific scenes of their deaths, did they plead, did they scream, or did they not know what was happening as the world was ripped from their grasp.

“The police can handle him Mr. Stark, you can focus on saving the world.” He says, words cheerful but strangely monotonous, ending it with a small, “And anyways you’re iron man, you have no reason to worry over a random serial killer.” he breathes out slowly and calmly, “In New York they come a dime a dozen.”

“No they don’t kid, for all I know this is a giant crime ring. I should care about the people for once anyways.” I sigh, keeping one eye on the rapidly increasing numbers on the force gauge, and the other on the kid fiddling with the web shooter.

“You care about people Mr. Stark! Don’t let the mean people get to you, they’re just jealous.” He walks over near me again, using his puppy eyes.

“Thanks kid, but that still doesn't change the fact that the killer can pull apart bones.” I mutter, running a hand through my hair to attempt to calm any way I can.

“Breaking bones can’t be that difficult, I almost do all the time but like I try not to. But like other people break my bones just fine so like eh.” He avoids my gaze, “Like look, It must be easy enough.” He picks up one of the bones, and holds it between his two hands, and it

Almost

Doesn’t

Break

But then he looks at it, and breathes for a few moments, pulling it apart like tissue paper with a sickening noise. I almost vomit at the sight, not of somebody breaking a bone, but of Peter breaking a bone. Even if it is fake.

“So the killer is enhanced” I mutter, so quiet the kid doesn't hear, so quiet It might have only been in my mind.


	2. Peter's eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One day Peter had snapped, and It wasn't as reversible as one would have hoped.

I didn’t mean it the first time.

I was just trying to stop him, trying to grab a knife wielding hand, but he also had a gun.

The hand closes around the arm before my mind comprehends, juicing it like a blood red orange. 

Crunch

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


Richard threw open the door to their little house, a giant grin plastered on his face at an almost comical level, “Honey, I’mm hommeee!” he shouts, voice high and raised to parody.

“Dad!!” comes echoing down the hallway, followed closely by a three year old with hair as untameable as Richard’s own he wheezes for a few moments.

“Breathe with me, in and out.” He coos, placing a hand on chestnut curls, “Did anything interesting happen today little rabbit?”

“Yeah! Oreo died!” He chirps, giving a little chubby cheeked smile. Richard furrows his brow much to the confusion of big brown eyes.

“What do you mean sweetie, I’m sure mommy just took him to a nice farm out in the countryside.” He soothes, looking around the room for his wife.

“No Dad.” He states, seriousness trying to infect his 3 year old gaze, “He died, bow, pam, blood everywhere. Mom went to go bury him.” He gestures wildly like a storyteller, cheerful and rambunctious with a slight slurring of his words.

“I’m glad you’re being so strong,” he soothes, crouching down in a sort of parental resignation, “Most kiddos your age would be so sad that their kitty died.”

“Why would I be sad?” He asks with a detached curiosity, tears suddenly appearing in his eyes in the space of a blink of the eye, calming down to a sort of wavering vulnerability.

“Death is one of the saddest thing son, but It doesn’t have to be. Oreo has gone to a better place now, and you may never see him again, but you can keep him in your heart just there,” he presses a hand to the small chest wreaking with slight tremors and uneven breathing.

“I miss him dad.” Peter sobs, clinging to the edges of the S.H.E.I.L.D. mandated suit jacket he wears, tears soaking through the thick fabric.

Mary flashes him a look when she walks in through the door, hands coated in a thin layer of blood and dirt. He completely understands.

-

Shard of cone like broken glass, so much blood some may be liquidized muscle, something stringy under the thin layer of the suit. His screams echo through the cold dark of the alleyway, maybe even loud enough for the long gone victim to hear. He rips his body away from my grip in a violent fear.

Leaving the rest of his arm with me.

Turning around he runs, abandoning all hope of money, violence, or right arms in favor of getting as far away from me as possible.

_ “Your heart rate has increased, would you like for me to call boss?” _

The arm is still warm in my grip, though the fingers are more slack than a living one would ever be. Sticky blood flows from the wound my hand still rests on. A strange warmth rests between the bottom of my esophagus and the middle of my lungs, burning through me in a strangely mental manner.

_ “Peter, should I call boss?” _

Something hits me like free falling, something emotional. It burns burns burns, stemming from the top of the esophagus, burning into the stomach to fill it with a light and jittery feeling, hitting me behind the eyes with a sting. Every bit of me feels like electricity, especially from the heart, even to the toes and the tip of the roof of my mouth. Everything is weak and cold, and so not me that I can’t stand. The arm drops to the snow, but I stick to the wall.

_ “Peter!” _

It fades as soon as it came, leaving me with the echoes of Karen's voice.

“Don’t call Mr. Stark.” I choke out, letting myself slide from the wall into the soft, melting, bloody snow.

_ “But Peter, you have a severely elevated heart rate” _

“You don’t need to worry him Karen, its fine.” I sigh, letting the snow chill my too warm body, trying to fight the constant hum of suddenly louder intrusive spidery instincts.

_ “Peter, I would highly suggest you allow me to call boss.” _ Her voice has never sounded more like that of a worried mother, fake robotic tears would slide down a fake robotic face if able.

I breathe out deeply, letting myself rest further into the snow as a way to calm my jittery heart, my burning skin, a blaring spidey sense, 

_ The burning feeling, oh god the feeling. IT tastes, so much the smelllllllllll smell smell smell that wafts stinks the stench, I can taste it, the sound the delicious sound. The color of his screams, like a blaring piano that lures in the most prideful, the siren’s song that lured Odysseus, the hand of virgil in the middle of hell, I can FEEL hold touch sense tangible horrible the sound, it is the tune at which my bones vibrate. I want I want I want I Want I want i want i want ? ! no  _ ** _i nEDeD, I MUST I NE_ ** _ erepjoasfnkefihwrg _ ** _ED _ ** _ donttrytokillmethebloodjustsoundslikesalvationwhentheworldfeelslikeanythingbut,maybethepaintheempryisjustneedmaybemaybemaywhydoesthisbutineedneedneed _

Everything is too loud and too quiet, my head hurts like it did in the first few days of the powers, but I find the mind to respond.

“It’s nothing Karen, I-h” something reflexive musters in my chest as raw unfiltered learned adapted instinct takes over, making me sigh and stealing my words, “He already doesn’t think that we are strong enough, we shouldn’t make him doubt us even more by asking for help we really don’t need.”

_ “Alright Peter, though we shouldn’t hesitate when help is actually needed. Should I engage the suit’s heater?” _

_ Why would she _ ** _ A_ ** _ giwurbfiuyabjrnfapoijh _ ** _SK!_ ** _ That. burni ng burn burn burn burn dygin I’m dying it hurts _ ** _ WHY DOES SHE S_ ** _ qfk uhngbiuyrg j _ ** _HE SHE TAUNT SHE TAUNT IT SHE ME_ ** _ ! Crunchcrunchsnapclinckwhywouldshe, snapherlikeIsnapthearm, shewouldmakemakemakeanicecrunch, whydhoesntsheburnburnburnlikeshewantsmeto _

_ “Peter, your body temperature is at 35.5 Celsius, should I engage the heater? It will automatically be engaged at 35C” _

_ whyisitsohothothothotishelyingtomebutsheisarobotishouldendherthenshecanneverlietomeagain _

“N-no” I stumble out, trying to hear hear hear hear listen to myself over the screaming shouting shrill of my mind, to listen to the lo ** _favjsnrghoiikjnyfbankukcjk,hxyijm_ ** gic of my own thoughts. I drag myself to my feet, trying to avoid looking at the ar-

_ Is it still warm or has the heat been seeping out of it like it never should but now is dead a corpse a cadaver all alone like it should be. Would the crunch be as loud, would it melt under my hand like the resisting shell of an egg _

_ Hislifewasaneggishouldhavesnappedhiminsteadandmaybethebrainswouldspilloutofhisheadallwarmandthencooldownintothedeadmassthatishouldbe _

_ Or would it snapppgwna ojp all quiet like it could be, all perfect and easy and devoid of the distracting attention grabbing mind destroying eardrum bursting horrible and crime revealing screams of bloody murder that are undeserving of my poor ears. Would it crack all satisfying, all easy like I have to stop myself, what if it just bent under my hand unlike everyone says a bone shouldn't but nobody would be even remotely ready to try. _

-m. I seem to now be on the side of the wall, curled up into myself in the corner with my back sticking to the wall, something tugs at my ears but i cant hear hear hear it.

_ “Breath in, breath out. Just calm down Peter, the ground is cold, the snow is falling, the sun is setting. Breath in, breath out.” _

_ I know how easy it would be, It’s fading now but the memory doesn’t lie. I can feel the bone crunch playing over over playing over playing playing over over over over in my mind. It fills the empty, it is the only thing the only thing but rejection but pain but fear, it is the only thing that can fill my heart poor cold dead soul aren;t i never alive in the first place just a zombie that the other kids look at and know is dead but the adults never find out because they’re too uch in denial. I want it, I want it I want It it feels so good so not like pain, they weren't lying about emotion like I thought they were but it's so real real real it flies hits me burns me hits me like a witch are witches real is anything real I can't. _

“Thanks Karen.” I mumble, “I think I’m going to go home and calm down like you want me to.”

_ “Take care of yourself Peter, have a nice night” _

“I will Karen, you too!” I chirp, everything that needs fading but I don’t know that I want what I need.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


I didn’t mean it the first time.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


But I certainly will the next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me if you like the work! I really like the serial killer peter parker au and hope so do you!


	3. Natasha helps out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Natasha have a talk about the recent killings, and Peter is nowhere to be found.

“The serial killer is becoming more noted each hour, the name Skelly recently has been gaining media wide attention over the last few days too. I mean who calls a serial killer Skelly anyways? The name seemed to come out of nowhere but anyways. People keep dying more and more every day and I can’t do anything about it! I need to know more about this killer, I need to ..”

“Tony you need to calm down, take some breaths. Worry won’t do any good.” Natasha uses a calm voice, but the violent chopping of the celery says otherwise. Exasperation coats the sleeve of her emotions, though even with the stress she handles the knife with intense grace.

“But it’s been a solid week since I paid anything resembling attention to this and what do you know! That psycho killed not one, not two, not even fucking seven, he killed twenty three! Twenty three people over the course of a measly week, why aren’t you worried too!” Natasha sighs and opens the oven, peering at the giant lasagna that she made with the murderous look she reserves for villains. She slams the door and walks over to me, sitting down on the stool right next to me with a severe lack of grace for the super spy.

“Haven’t heard of him, honestly Tony. Are we dealing with another super villain here, or can I go back to bliss at our team designated off day in peace.” She pulls a phone out of her pocket and starts to look at the screen as her attention never leaves me.

“You could just look him up Natasha, I’m sure that the killer fanatics have already analyzed strange patterns to come up with some twisted vigilante personality for him.” Natasha raises an eyebrow and I run a hand through my hair, “How does he manage to sneak into the houses of people and kill them without a sound, somebody found their manager dead in his chair, he died while they were all at work. No descriptions, no leads, no dna, nothing. This person is practically a ghost.” Natasha chuckles softly, I look up from zoning out to see her looking me directly in the eyes with her chilling gaze, I want to shiver but have gotten used to the looks.

“The police don’t always give out their leads to the public Tony. You of all people know government likes to stay hidden behind a veil.” She tisks, turning her eyes back to the phone.

“I know, but I can’t get them anyways, they’re private government knowledge if anything.” I look back up at fully raised eyebrows and a smirk, “No Natasha I can’t. It’s illegal to break into the servers.”

“And when has that ever stopped you Tony? We all know that you hate when people keep secrets from you, even when it is my secret lasagna recipe.” She walks up to slam the hot lasagna pan down on the counter with a slight glare, “But are you seriously telling me that you don’t have even a single lead by yourself. Because if that was true I would be sad to say that you are no longer my fri-”

“Killer’s got powers.” I mumble, “Somehow they can break a regular sized and healthy human femur without bruising the outer skin or destroying the inside of the body. Its a clean break, pulled apart with little to no resistance if the scans released to the media are any inclination.”

“Well shit, I see why you’re worried Tony. If it's any consolation, according to this website the victims are in two main categories, so we know something.” Interest washes over me, and take the phone she hands out as she keeps talking, “The first category that the first few kills fall into is the people outside at night, usually found dead in alleyways and not discovered for anywhere from a few hours to a few days.” My throat clenches involuntarily, “And the second group strangely is anyone who has bribed politicians or domestically abused others. Those are the ones who are found dead inside of buildings.”

“Great we have a crazy one.”

  
  


“We have one with a pattern Tony. We have more information than you think. The killer lives somewhere in the area, they have some sort of ability, either agile or sneaky build in order to get into the buildings, and you know where to find them.”

“Are you seriously suggesting that I put cameras up in alleyways or near the houses of those who bribed. If people found out about this it would be a pr nightmare.” But the thought of how and where still runs through my mind.

“No, I’m suggesting that you learn more about the killer, although you still could put up the cameras or try to look for them. Maybe even look through who signed the accords?” She walks over and plops a plate of steaming lasagna infront of me, gesturing for me to eat.

“Thanks Natasha, you’re the only one who I talked to about this and didn’t think I was crazy for looking for this … Skelly … Pepper last week told me to focus on the company if I needed anything more to do.”

“You are crazy, but do I care? No. Go look for anyone you want to, it’s not like I’m your mom. What about Peter though?” She goes back to eating but my mouth reacts practically for me.

“Are you accusing Peter of being the killer!” I shout, standing up and glaring at Natasha, but she stays calm.

“No Tony, just wondering where he is. I thought he was here each Sunday for a day off or something? I want to do a bit of training on those atrocious hand to hand combat skills.” I sit back down slightly embarrassed, eyes flickering to the door and couch.

“I don’t know where he is, he was just here last week. Thinking about it, he hasn’t been doing much patrol this week so perhaps he has something else to do.”

“Ill go check on him next week if he doesn’t show up again, us spiders have to look out for each other.” She wolfs down the rest of her lasagna and leaves quickly.

-

It was far too easy to access the body scans, though the most detailed ones available are not to the quality I would have liked. The other information was even more obvious, even being sent over emails in public unsecured networks. FRIDAY hacked into the servers and gained a few pieces of information, but most were useless ones gleaned from the confirmed victims:

  1. The windpipes were crushed or broken which caused their death
  2. The bones were broken after death
  3. All victims visually looked to be adults
  4. Some of the bones were left unbroken, but not a pattern of them just randomly as if forgotten
  5. The clothes were not taken off as the bones were broken

Though some of the information was useful or plain strange.

  1. The killer kills at night.
  2. The killings are clustered in Brooklyn, but some of the bodies were left outside in Queens.
  3. In most killings the locks of the doors were left untouched or broken from the inside.
  4. The belongings are left untaken, though some rooms are cleaned
  5. There are no weapons used.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Though the strangest information comes from the first and unconfirmed case, which was largely unknown to me and the rest of the world. Most likely due to this grotesque nature.

The victim was a twenty three year old woman on the run from the law due to the sale of illegal and dangerous weapons, the weapons made by Toomes gang was the main selection. She was killed two weeks ago most likely on the weekend.

The body was found in her apartment, and was discovered by the landlord when she missed her Monday payment. The door was left unlocked with the keys on the floor, and the window was left with obvious marks of a break in.

The body itself was unrecognizable, the head crushed off of the body, leaving blood everywhere. All of the bones were broken uncountably many times with some limbs ripped off and thrown about the room. Scratch marks litter every surface, deep and frantic, and cover the entire body as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be sure to leave comments and suggestions if you like this work!


	4. The first step to madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback to Peter's first crime

A wave of regret passes over me, the far too literal blood on my hands drips onto the floor in a warm uncomfortable stream. My nails are dulled and disgusting, even after I try to pick out the bits of skin from under them they continue to be nasty.

Out of my pocket I take the miscellaneous hairs, toenails, skin flakes, and whatever pieces of random dna I could find around the area. Scattering it around the room in a wild hope that it will disguise my dna. With the blood on my hands I wash them in the sink, turning the water to the highest in the hopes it makes me feel anything.

It doesn’t, the shakes that rattle through my body keep a high note in my body, like a tuning fork. It hurts, but doesn’t feel exactly bad sort of like what I hear of a runner’s high, or the apparent butterfly feeling of love. The iron tang on my tongue is a bitter aftertaste, just making the ramifications of my stupid actions return to me. 

My hair sticks to my forehead, plastered by a thick layer of hair gel, sweat, and a spandex hood. A sharp pain attracts my eyes back to my hand, which has turned a blistering red and started to sting, so I pull them away now so hot they feel clean. But the rest of me isn’t, my arms are soaked in the bodily juices that come out when you twist a brain, my shirt splattered with droplets of blood, and the shoes soaked through with the same.

I take off my shoes, washing my feet in the sink, and tiptoe across the non bloody parts of the room, my eyes glancing over in fascination at the bone shards scattered. Her face has never looked better, all of the skull bone crumples in a way that leaves her face skin baggy.

_ THe arms are so satisfying to crunchcrunchcrunchcrunchcrunchcrunchsnaptear just pick it up and have the beautify juices seep like the pulpiest orange juice. The iron tang should burn itself into the fabric of a tongue and it should stay forever because it tastes like sin itself. Just let go, fall into the inviting puddles, let a supersensitive nose pull in the smell of a corpse as it rottttttttttts over several days. Mulch the bones until they become unrecognizable as grits and then eat them, feel the chalky taste wash down a greedy throat. Everybody will now how sinful Peter Parker is, they'll look with fear and anger they'll see the mind you were never given the heart that you should have but nobody would ever allow to a demon. Just do it. _

Placing a small device in her AC unit I leave, clicking the button as I watch the house slip out of my frame of hearing but not out of my frame of smell. The disgusting hydrogen peroxide like scent drifts in, leaving me with the frame of heart to know the dna has been disintegrated. Nobody can see me right now, I avoid them as soon as I hear the deafening heartbeats from far away, and even if they caught a glimpse all they would see a teenager barefoot and draped in a threadbare blanket.

Maybe I should not break their arteries next time -no there should not be a next time no matter how much it fills the emptiness it should not, I’m exactly the monster I need to stop

_ But there bones taste so good, snap so good, feel like cracking open a glimpse to whatever heaven there is for just a split second and then it’s gone. Nothing feels better, no feeling matters now that this one exists, its love its passion. Don’t the public love the ideas of love and passion, then why should they get so angry when I express mine. You can’t stop, you’re addicted to the way that something that everybody says is so strong and the foundation for the human body tears like a tissue under my superior hands. _

But I wont and I know enough to know that If I don’t again It will happen in the worst possible time and place-parker luck after all-. When I reach the river I find the nearest pile of dry seaweed, taking the bloody shoes and blanket, burying them inside. With a quick check for security cameras I drop the spandex mask in as well, lighting it on fire with a match.

Everything fades as the shoes alight, but I quickly loose interest in nothingness- _ i w a n t t o f e e l _

-

“So.” I look around, catching my eye on the familiar looking brunette in the corner, who happens to be sitting on my desk in my room for no observable reason.

“Spiderman is a baddie, I sure wouldn’tve guessed that.” I just give her a blankly dead stare, standing up in a way that causes her to shake mildly, and as she obviously wants to flee she stays in the faked nonchalant pose.

“And who are you?” I say leveled, but my overwhelming emotion at this transits to me cracking my fingers loud and frenzied. She puts a hand on her arm reflexively at this, startling me into stopping.

“I really don’t want to hear you say my name.” She states, carefully avoiding looking at my eyes, “Anyways how did you forget me!” She whines, hand batting at something on my desk and passing right through. Her eyes were fixed on me before I looked at her, “I mean obviously your subconscious remembers!”

“I never thought I would hallucinate.” I mutter, using the end of a scribe to try to pry the gunk out of my web shooters. Her build is agile, her hair a thin and short anime style mop, wearing cargo pants with a bulletproof jacket and steel toed boots.

“Most people would say ghosts.” She pouts, sitting down at the chair I tend to leave coats on in the corner of my room, her fairly youthful face gives the pout a strange appearance.

“And that's exactly what my subconscious would say.” A faint guess tugs at my mind, and I have to hold up a bubble of something, “Isn’t it Alice.” She shudders, falling right off of the chair and disappearing through the wall.


	5. Chapter 5

“Why are you asking me about Peter Parker anyways? That kid isn’t much to note about, he probably studies for fun or something bland like that.”

“We just want you to answer the questions, and then will we compensate you for your time Miss.”

“Jeez, is curiosity so bad?”

“....”

“Well nevermind then. I’d have to say the strangest thing that I ever saw about him happened when we were at most eight, some in the class were nine, but anyways it was third grade. 

We were in the spanish class we used to go to once a week for our lessons, every friday at the end of the day, with Miss Sanchez. She was an older Latina lady, but stern from years of teaching ungrateful kids, not that I blame her. We all hated her in class, getting yelled at is never fun, but something about Peter made it seem like he hated her even more than the rest of us, of course she didn’t notice that after all. I was the only one who noticed.

I had a hell of a crush on the kid, but not like a sort of love but more a sort of mania, like little kids have. I thought he was really cute, and because having a crush was all the rage in my friend group at that time I choose him. I choose him because he was really smart too, he was always reading in the library and would answer all the questions correctly in class.

He hasn’t really changed much since then at all really, except he’s far more traditionally cute instead of the sort of niche cute that I was all fawned over. I heard Liz say that now he has abs, apparently she saw them in PE class, like apparently he’s fucking ripped. Like shit, eight year old me didn’t know it yet but she had really good taste, like jesus damned hell damn.”

“Can you get back on topic please Miss.”

“Oh yeah, sure, sorry. Well anyways I was obsessed with him, so I’d watch him when we were sitting in class together. And one day he brought this cookie into class for Miss Sanchez, fucking reeeeeeeeeeked of almonds, like stank it to high hell, but in a way that made the cookie seem really appetizing. He only brought one, and it was wrapped in parchment paper that stunk of mint, the only way I was able to smell the cookie is that young me had a really good nose.

Miss Sanchez accepted the cookie happily, like one of those teachers that saw teacher’s day as like something that should be a national holiday - did I forget to mention that this was teacher's day, because it was teachers day. So Peter wasn’t strange in bringing in this cookie. 

After like a half hour she reaches for the cookie on her desk, practically inhaling it under the span of a few minutes, and then the strange things start to happen. 

Miss Sanchez complains of a headache loudly in class naught a few moments after eating this. She starts to hold her head in her hands while all the students just watch in a sort of awkward silence with the undertone of the entire class extremely glad to not have to do our conjugation practice at the very moment.

I watch her, although most of the other students in the class just play simple games like rock-paper-scissors to pass the time, though staying absolutely silent as to not incur her wrath. I hear her start to breath fare too fast, and I start to freak out as well but am rooted to my seat in worry. I have no idea how long she was doing that for, time just seemed to be a non issue to me. 

It was a long time ago so I don’t remember exactly what she said, but I remember it being something along the lines of ‘excuse me I have to get to the restroom’, but when she stands up from her seat her legs buckle under neath her, leaving her groaning on the floor. 

The rest of the kids start screaming, in a way that breaks me out of my haze, I watch as she vomits on the floor. I start to feel sick as well, so I look away ….”

“What happened next Miss?”

“Jeez this is a hard memory to remember, god. I look away from the scene of my elderly teacher vomiting helplessly on the floor to Peter’s face, and I won’t ever forget how much that freaked me out. He had this super fucking creepy smile on, like the one you’d see on the face of a Nazi actor in a holocaust movie when they beat people. He looked like he wanted to look into your eyes, dig his hand through your eye socket in order to pull out your brain.

I know it was probably just the weird batshit things kids do, like they’re all little psychopath bitches, about as compassionate as a rancher in modern day america to a cow on the butcherline. But It still freaked me out, you know? Sometimes when I remember it is hard to really latch on to my rational part of my brain, the part that reminds me that kids are weird like that, that Peter Parker is bland as milk toast, or the most terrifying idea, that I imagined it all.

After that the teacher next door walks in to see what is causing all the ruckus, and definitely does see what is causing all of the rukus. Within a few minutes the paramedics come, rushing her out of the room.

The paramedics find out that Peter accidentally used too much almonds in an improvised recipe that accidentally distilled down some cyanide in a way that I can’t remember. Everybody knew about Peter after that, as the boy who accidentally poisoned a teacher. Some people would call him Poison-boy. But then we all seemed to kinda forget over the years, I don’t even know how something like that got forgotten.”

“Did the teacher live?”

“I, I-uh don’t think so, but she could have. I never saw her again after the paramedics carted her away, but nobody really told us that she was dead either. None of the people really cared enough to look when they were finally old enough to comprehend death.”

“Did anybody think that Mr. Parker did it on purpose?”

“Some people joked about it I guess. Umm uh, I think that there was a girl named Lisa or something like that who really thought that Peter tried to kill her. Real conspiracy theory type gal, like one of those who think Hitler didn’t commit suicide, like stuff like that. She always used to stalk him and write in notebooks and stuff like that.”

“Used to? What happened to her?”

“I think she switched schools or something. Oh no, I remember. They caught her cheating at the end of fifth grade and then midtown middle wouldn’t admit her. Don’t know why she would cheat at a test in fifth grade, pretty sure it was the placement test for midtown though or something.”

“Thank you for your time Miss, you will be compensated gratefully for your time.”


	6. The first spindle of a web of lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Parker finds a man that knows who he is inside.

“So you’re The Skeleton Killer of Brooklyn, aren’t you?” I hear from the nearest person to me, as I walk along the street. I twist around before my body tells me too, and the person has long dark hair in a hood that looks very inhuman -as it is moving around like some sort of octopus-, and deep dark eyes as the irises seem to expand past what is necessary. I open my mouth with a facade of confusion.

“Don’t bother in trying to refute me. I know.”

“I’m sorry sir, but do I know you.” I hear myself asking, the mask of confusion firmly in place but the other man bears his teeth. Very inhuman teeth, a part of me desires them, but the logical part overrules. I feel the anger tearing and twitching and feeling and hurting and screaming and all too much at once for me to think in any other manner than trying to contain it.

“I know you.” He says with such anger and calm, Alice snorts and I nearly jump, a feeling that hurts with how my spidey sense never reacts to her, “And I know beyond a doubt that you are the Skeleton killer. I know where your last victims are, where you killed them, their final words, and etcetera. Now come with me, we must talk in private.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about sir?” I ask, playing up the youth in my voice and stature, the man simply sighs, but Alice starts to loudly talk.

“Hell yeah, some fucking justice, you evil motherfucker. It is so difficult to watch you kill like dozens of fucking people, like oh my god how do you manage it. Like impressive, but also I can never imagine the avengers the same again, thanks for ruining my governmental fears.” The man cuts her off before she finishes speaking, she pouts as if he knew he was.

“ You do, and If you don’t want me to call the police to your location the next time of one of your …” He grimaces, “excursions, then you will follow me. You do spend so much time on each one, it would not be difficult. Though if you need further proof,” He leans over without touching me to whisper, “You just spent almost an hour caressing the corpse of your last victim, I know it’s you.”

I nod, and start to follow him, he keeps an eye on me.

“I was scared of the avengers at least before this, but now like jeez. I guess this is the last vestige of childhood or something.” She sits down with us in the car the man leads us to, “Ya’ll are just as fucked up as the rest of us.” 

“What did you expect.” I feel myself bite out, though the man perks up at my words. Alice smirks.

“I certainly did not expect the killer to be as young as you are, thats for sure. I also didn’t expect the killer to be so cooperative.” The man mutters, pulling into the garage of seemingly a condo in the suburbs.

“Its our stop.” He gets out of the car, and motions for me to follow. I walk into the house to be lead into a perfectly normal looking living room.

“Is there any surveillance here?” I ask giving the room a quick scan, noting that there is a severe lack of both windows, mirrors, and any glass of any kind. I barely even notice that the room is unlit due to my senses running on overdrive, but I find out die to the distinct lack of shadows in the room. Perhaps because it is entirely shadows. The man doesn’t seem to notice. He sits down while I remain standing.

“How did you” He interrupts me, looking more arrogant every second.

“How did I find you?” He grins, “Unlike your normal and uninteresting folk,” He pauses for a moment to sip wine I didn’t know he had with him, “I am special, a different sort. I am one of the few magic wielding humans, as I specialize in shadow magic. And you, dear one, reside in the shadows.”

“Did I hide my tracks well?” I ask bitterly, trying not to look at Alice as she moves around.

“Yes, very. I am the only one who will ever figure it out.” He leans over, “I am the only one to ever know. And that is exactly why I contacted you Skeleton?”

The voice breaks through my mental walls.

_ Kill him, wait for his blood to drip out so you can draw a painting of exactly the torture done to his soul in hell. He does not deserve capillaries, nerves, life, happiness, and especially bones. Nobody will know and nobody can hear, I will have all the time in the world. Right, as all of his bones are supple, IMMMAGGINENNE the beautiful crunch. The grace of a butterfly in a pond is what he holds now, but imagine the grace I can give him, imagine the grace my wonderful hands can grant. _

_ It would be cruel to not, and wouldn't it just be so fun? _

Alice is gone, but the man has a sickening look on his face, I force myself to grit my teeth and restrain my fists, driving my mouth to only a sentence, “What do you want from me?” I say through clamped teeth.

He jumps up, circling me like a bird to prey as I furiously try to restrain my far too willing muscles, “Such the anger on you, I always imagined you must have a temper for all of that wonderful art you create!”  _ Snap his teeth like popcorn ohh the wonderfull fgeel crunchslurpcrackbreakdestroyenjoydemolish _ He tries to prod me but when I let out an involuntary growl he steps back “Fiiiiesty!” He mutters.

“Honored. Now what do you want me for.” I nearly yelled to try to hear my own voice over my own voice.

“I need you to kill some people. It wont be much of an inconvenience for you, as you already have such a potent killing spree in the future.” He puts his hands on my shoulders.

Something twitches in my mind, and the man is on the floor as If I had pushed him, but contain no memory of it. He looks awed, and that makes me want to tear the ribs out of him to stab them into his eyes.

_ There's the spirit! I should kill him, break his bones and feel the blood run between my fingertips, feel the brain matter ooze on my hands. _

“No contact I guess.” He groans, pushing himself up with the couch to standing, “But imagine the future, a perfectly bloody world that knows to fear. You can see it too can’t you?”

“I am perfectly fine with the world as it is.” I hear myself but the voice protests loudly.

“I can hear your soul call out…”

  
  
  
  
  


_ Puddles _

_ Should be filled _

_ If not with blood _

  
  


_ But people killed _

  
  
  


_ How I urge to taste _

  
  
  
  


_ I cannot bear to waste _

  
  
  
  


_ The ashy flavor young _

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ That coats my tongue _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ They’ll scream my name _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ And think me tame _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ But in reality _

  
  
  
  
  


_ All with who I can agree _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Are deemed crazy _

  
  
  
  
  


_ Drip _

  
  
  
  
  


_ Drip _

  
  
  
  


_ Drop _

  
  
  
  


I open my eyes again to the bloody corpse on the floor, lying in a puddle of organs, with an empty chest cavity. The skin on his face has been torn aside to leave only the muscle structure underneath. Rib bones pierce his eye sockets, and the skin is torn like tissue paper.

A few small bones litter the floor, along with his bag that has rolled across the room spilling piles of medication all around. My hands are somehow clean.

I walk around the room, searching for a way out of this when I feel the dna destroyer in my pocket. Though I explore the rest of the house anyways. Coming upon a kitchen I find a near complete ribcage, surrounded by knives and shavings. Upon closer touch the bones are sharpened to a razor’s tip.

Something washes over me and I remember that I have absolutely no idea where I am and are without a phone. I look around the room, noting a phone, but also re-noting the medicine on the floor. 

When closer inspected it is a large bag of sedatives, obviously intended for me in case I refused to cooperate -look how well that turned out for him-, and take them. I recognize these as a kind that somebody tries to give me before, and it knocked me out and stalled my healing, but definitely not at a high enough dose and I pulverized the man.

In his room I find rope and chains with full blown rust cuffs attached though they are locked, which I grab. Though the rest of the upstairs is barren of things I need. The plan overcomes me.

In the bathroom in a second search I find matches, in the laundry room I find a cloth, in the kitchen I find a leaf of lettuce, a tenderizer, and some metal pokers. I hide in the bathroom as I dna cleanse the area. I rip my hoodie in half, tearing it to expose my chest. With careful precision and using the hoodie sleeve to prevent prints I use the matches and poker to burn a message into my chest, 

**Nice try**

**Too young**

Due to the fact that I distinctly remember burns not loosing their mark for days. I dump the matches and the poker in the puddle of blood. Wrapping the entire bottle of pills in the leaf of lettuce I leave it in front of me. I tie the rope around my legs, making it so it is very difficult to move, but I hold myself up by my arms.

I grab the tenderizer mallet, breaking my hand in order to fit it through the cuff. I wait until it is healed for a few minutes in order to do the same to the next. And then I place the lettuce wrapped pills in my mouth, tying the cloth around my jaw as a gag. I try not to swallow the pills to early.

With a swing of my arms I dislocate them, placing my hands firmly behind my back. I feel the shoulders pop back in place nearly immediately. With a single gulp I swallow down the bottle of pills, letting the world fade into darkness.

  
  


-

I awaken to the same darkness I had seen before, but the room is pitch black to me and stinks of days old corpse. I fumble over to where I remember the phone being, furiously trying to type in the few numbers.

9

  
  


1

  
  


1

I manage, hearing the phone ring practically distantly in my mind. I hear a clear noise all of the sudden.

“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?” The voice asks, calm and slightly tired.

I start to scream ‘help’ as best as I can through the gag, but it comes out more as “Hmmp Hmmmmmlp, hmmmmmhmmp.” She recognizes the situation immediately and starts to become more alert.

“Please stay on the line, help is on the way. Can you try to remove the gag so we can get more information from you?” I start to furiously struggle with the gag -whoever put this on me must have tied this tight- my mind tries to believe the situation I am in, and all protests start to fall short.

“Are you in immediate danger?” She asks after a few moments, most likely accepting that the gag had not been removed..

“Mmmmmmooooooooh” I manage, trying to shimmy out of these but my muscles feel weak, my mind feels fuzzy now.

“Everything will be alright, people are coming to save you.” All that comes out of my mouth is muffled.

“Mmhmm”

I stay on the line, giving muffled answers to her calm reassurance as I await the help of the police. Seeing nothing, feeling only a deep pain, smelling only decay, hearing only her voice.

Suddenly the door opens, blasting my eyes with burning light which I do my best to blink out of my eyes.

“Holy shit!” I hear from the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment how you like it, I hope this chapter was good and I will try to make the next chapter as good as I can! Comment if you liked it, I love to read comments.


	7. Lies spread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is questioned at by the police about the occurrences of last chapter.

After I am examined, and my injuries photographed along with treated I am led to a small waiting room. The borrowed clothes are itchy on bandages and raw skin, the room hurts with artificial homliness, so much I can practically smell it, so much it burns my fingers. I sit on a couch across from two chairs and a table. The wall is decorated with well taken pictures of flowers, the obvious most bland thing they could think of. A camera is on the wall of the corner of the room, and another on the opposite wall.

My mind keeps wandering, my fingers twitching, it somehow feels worse than it does when I am at school, perhaps because there is something to distract me there. The voice is there, whispering, I try not to focus on the heartbeats in the building. I hear a few getting closer, but some of the heartbeats stop at the door.

A woman I recognize as one of the police who ‘rescued’ me from the scene of the crime walks in, dressed in casual clothes that I would expect from a preschool teacher, most likely to calm me down or to deal with the ‘troubled’ or ‘traumatized’ youths. She smiles at me. A man I don’t recognize walks in with a laptop, and is wearing a similar manner of clothes.

“Good afternoon,” she soothes, “What is your name and age?” They sit on the chairs.

“My name is Peter Benjamin Parker,” I say slowly through a raspy throat -probably caused by how the voice loves to scream-, “I am 15 years old, born on August 10, 2001.” The woman gets up and walks out of the room to my utter confusion.

“Is this you?” The man asks, turning around the computer to show my own face, with a few small details such as my address and place of schooling.

“Yes.” The woman returns with a cup full of water, handing it to me at which I gladly drink. She sets a pitcher of water next to me.

“You can choose to not answer any of our questions, but know that the more you say the higher chance we have to catch the criminal who did this to you.” She gives a small smile, and tilts her head at me in questioning.

I nod.

“We will contact your guardians, do you wish to continue the questioning with or without their presence.” I absentmindedly rub the sores on my wrists.

“Without, I-I hope to get this over with.”

_ You never seem to be able to focus and stay calm under Stark’s investigation, do you? _ The voice practically maniacally laughs.

“What date did the crime occur?”

“I-uh If I remember correctly it was the seventh of december, 2016. What date is it now?” I ask, letting confusion and ignorance seep into my voice.

“It is the ninth.” Her eyes are sad as she watches me drink more water.

“Oh.” I look down at the table, and bite my lip-I truly didn’t intend to be out for this long.

“Tell the story from the beginning, and we will ask clarification questions as you go.” She smiles, and watches me intently. My mind practically replaces my memories with my cover story in the beat of their heats.

“I was walking around queens and brooklyn idly hoping to find the skeleton killer, and-” I breathe in as my memory plays a view of the killing form the outside, “I heard a short scream before something is muffled, so I walk up to the window. I saw the shadow of somebody standing over a body, when I got closer I saw a flash through the window when Skeleton bumped it of the bones broken on a corpse.”

“Why did you not contact the police at that moment.”

“I forgot my phone at home, but I didn’t want to leave when I had finally found the killer.”

I breathe in, my outward senses nearly lost as my mind plays a split screen in my head of the scene from my eyes and another viewer, “I don’t think they noticed me, and I nearly ran away to the other side of the road when I saw it. The person leaves through the window and parkors down the side to the ground. I follow the man for a short while, looking around the street to find other pedestrians but I find none.”

_ Listen to the heartbeats, just hear them please. Sound delicious, I can feel its iron savory taste. I don’t want to resist the urges, do I? _

“After a short while of following them without a plan I notice as they talks to a man who just parked on the street, and they get in the car.” I pour more water and try to keep my mind focused on reality, “Thinking that they are allies I write down his license plate on a piece of paper as they drive away.”

“Do you have this with you on your person at the time of our arrival.”

“I don’t think so. But when the car drives away I notice tracks in the frost it leaves behind as it drives, So I follow these to a small condo still without a plan. I notice the same car parked outside of a slightly ajar door.”

“So I try to get a peek, but I don’t see anything, the room is pitch black. Thinking that the killer must be gone because of this I open it and take a small step inside.” I purse my lips and sip water instead of answering, trying to seem like I am lost in the memory, which I am but not the one they would expect.

“What happened next?” She asks, and I slowly look up at her to follow her voice.

“The guy tackled me, I don’t even know how they knew I was there, they must of saw me following him. Pushing me to the ground, they look murderous, but then he seems to see my face and calm slightly.”

“What did they look like, and was it only the killer attacking you or was it others?”

“It was only the killer, I think the man was the one you found dead on the floor. I couldn’t make out the features in the pitch black very well, but I think they must have had lighter colored eyes or something. The killer pinned me down, and shoved a handfuls of pills into my mouth, holding both my mouth and nose shut as they pin me down with their body weight.” I feel my fingers absentmindedly tapping quickly on the surface,

“They nearly yelled at me, ‘swallow the pills or you’ll suffocate’ in a raspy voice. I didn’t even think as I did.”

“What did the pills do?” She asks.

“They knocked me out cold, and then I woke up and immediately looked -more like felt actually- around the room. I could almost make out a phone, so I called the police. And then I’m here.” Something in my arms aches, and I am brutally reminded that the pills also remove my powers, and that they are still mostly active.

“Thank you,” She smiles, and with how much she does I want to rip the lips on her face, or at least sow them to her jaw so hat the never form that face again, “You can wait in the other room until your guardians arrive.” 

I just nod, following her to a room with more couches and flower pictures, but now there is not a table and chairs. I sit down heavily fidgeting, digging my nails into my wrist to quiet the voice.

‘It’s tony stark!’ I hear whispered from across the station, and several other such whispers follow. I expected Happy to be one of my emergency contacts, but the true part of my brain never really expected Tony Stark himself to show up. It always just existed as a part of the simulations my mind runs.

After a few minutes I hear from down the hall, ‘Mr. Stark, Ms. Parker, Mr. Parker has endured a horrible experience and it will be best to treat this subject with caution. He may not want to retell the experience, but the overall is that when trying to investigate a killer solo he was put into drugged sleep for a day and a half.’

‘Do you know who did this’ I hear Mr. Stark ask in a hushed but heated tone.

‘The public knows this as the Skelly, the skeleton serial killer.’

‘Oh my god.’ I hear May gasp, and the conversation goes silent, them being lead into the room soon after. As the door opens May rushes over to me, gathering me in a tear filled hug.

\--

I sit down with Ned at lunch a week later, being forced to stay home by over protective guardians, finally able to convince them to let me go to school today.

“You must have been really sick Peter!” Ned says overactively, “You’re never gone for so many days in a row from school.”

“I wasn’t sick.” I mumble out, feeling the rough lines of the words that managed to scar onto my chest rub against the material of my shirt.

“Avengers mission?” He whispers loudly into my ear after looking around to see if other people could hear us.

“Not really Ned, I can’t say right now, I’ll tell you later.”

“Better be good, I want details about whatever cool dude spider-man fought.” The bell rings and we walk to P.E., talking mainly of superficial topics, luring my mind away from the altercation a week back.

We enter the overcrowded changing rooms, one thing that Midtown didn’t seem to splurge on compared to the rest of the rooms, but it just shows how obviously that this is a science focused school. I begin to change quickly without even really thinking.

“Hey Penis, what’s that on your chest?” I hear, and turn to Flash before I think. The room looks over at us when Flash goes silent. I realize that I am shirtless, wearing only the PE shorts.

Right there scarred onto my chest are the words,

**Nice Try**

**Too Young**

“Oh my god, you’re the living victim of Skelly!” I hear shouted from the room, and the clamor really starts. Even Flash quiets staring in awe at the scar.

“Leave him alone!” I hear Ned yell, and as I quickly put on the shirt I am dragged away by Ned. He looks worried and somewhat regretful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like It! The comments really motivate me to write more of this, even though I also have a bunch of other fics to finish. Ya'llre just so fun and satisfying to write for


	8. The start of the end

I have returned to my own room, but still confined away from my … my … until night dawns and Skelly can return. I can feel every little heartbeat, the crying of Aunt May, but I just can't fathom why these humans are so weak and will cry even though it gains them no benefit. 

Her heart beats.

Pitter.

Patter.

I can’t understand why my logical brain is stolen by the anger, by the impulse. But it is screaming in my ear to go to aunt may and remove that pesky heart to quiet down the racket. Though no matter how much I base desire this I can’t, and I hope it listens.

_ I love this, and I know it. Life will be so much better when the heart of that disgusting naive excuse for a guardian is silenced, obviously I can hear it so It is too loud. This is a sign, the spider powers are telling me to kill her, why else would it allow this to bother me so. _

I know this has gotten too far. Too far when whenever something annoys me I desire to smash it into the ground until that pesky god dAmned noise Stops WhY woN’T IT STOP OH GOd WHY WON’T iT ShuT THE HELL UP

I turn around to see Alice lounging on my bed, she looks intently at my hands where without realizing it I have dug into them causing blood to drip. I let go, allowing the twitching to seep into an internal manifestation instead of an outside one.

I open my eyes again as she has gotten what seems to be more corporeal, tapping her leg to the rhythm.

“Why are you here.” Her tapping is getting louder, but at least it can attempt to drown out the beat.

“Because it’s official that you’re a horrible person.” If I focus in a specific way I can see the bruises of her death wrapped around her neck and head.

“You can insult me all the time,  _ Alice _ but that doesn’t mean it will do anything to me.”

“It’s not just that.” She looks down and stops tapping, which lets the wave of May’s heartbeat attempt to burst my eardrums.

“What is it.” I snap, nails digging blood out of my scalp.

“You’ve now officially killed more people than you have saved. You are a bad influence on the world.” She stares at the spider-suit, becoming more corporeal, now if I try I cannot see through her.

“So why do I care.” she looks at me, then refuses to speak for the rest of the night. Good riddance.

-

“You don’t have to join me in this Peter, you have every reason not to.” Tony looks at me worried, but like such an innocent little kid. If I was really like that I should incurr my own wrath, but now Skelly is known for sparing children.

“I’m going to, I-h” my voice goes choked just like I want it to, before quickly muttering “I have been doing it before and thats how Skelly got me.” The room goes silent, but for the whirring of the suit machine.

“Why weren’t you in your spider-suit for that Peter.” Tony looks exceedingly worried, an emotion I wasn’t aware I had control over.

“Because he never seems to be out at the same time as spider-man, I think he avoids me or something. Damn for those spidey watching sites.” I grumble, and then look over the spider-suit as it’s being repaired, “Though I think he might know my identity now.”

Tony looks like a very worried and frustrated Aunt May.

“You didn’t let me go out as spider-man afterwards. You would notice the pattern too,” He looks guilty, “especially if he’s some criminal mastermind like the internet thinks.” My inner smirk grows.

“Well then I won’t let you go out to look for him without the spider-suit. If you go out to look for him at all. I can handle this Peter, you need to stay out of this.”

“I can handle it Mr. Stark. But I don’t think I should use the spider-suit for that. I really don’t want conspiracy theories that Spider-man is skelly. He’s also never been out for long at the same time as me anyways. I saw him running away from a crime scene once though.” I don’t notice that I’m rambling, but the intense look that Stark gives me snaps my mouth shut.

“I don’t think I could handle loosing you to him Peter.” The spider-suit is now fixed, and I in my heart know that once I am given it back that I should leave, leave before I worry him further. I don’t want to get killed by skelly if It will hurt Mr. Stark.

_ I am SKELLY! I can’t die to him., What am I thinkINg? _

“Anyways we need a break from this. So you want to go to a scientific conference about the increase in nanotech in London with me?” The spider-suit is deposited in my arms and Tony lays a hand on my shoulder.

“Skelly needs to stop.” I say this not just as cover, but as a realization. SKELLY needs to stop. In my heart I know that the police are getting closer every day.

“I have just the plan, you won’t have to worry about the murders when we’re gone.” Tony gives me a toothy smile, my stomach twists, and Alice gives me a soft look from across the lab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about how short and uninteresting this chapter is! I'm having serious wirters block and decided that releasing something is better than nothing. I hope you liked it anyways


	9. The convention pt. 1

I can smell the sweat of everyone else in the hotel, it’s overpowering, it’s … Alice is screaming or yodelling or whatever it’s called when I just want it to incessantly end!

“Cmon Petey boy.” I walk across the room to avoid her but she just teleports nearer, “We should watch a movie!” She grins, and is everywhere. There are many of her. I just wish that I’d never killed her in the first place.

“Just shut up.” I seethe, and she screams, doubling over in the pain and letting out breathy cries of anguish.

“You are sure lucky that Tony would care so much about you.” I look over to the other side of the room and she is there, watching me as I grab out a piece of paper and start to doodle, “Imagine if Skelly just stopped for the exact amount of time that you were over here.”

“I don’t want to.” I growl, and nearly snap the pencil, trying to wipe things off of the table in order to make space, but it all just sticks to my arms instead. It hurts and I nearly can’t take it. It takes all my effort right now to not explode, it hurts from the inside.

“This is really hard for you isn’t it?” I can’t tell if this is said mockingly or not but I still despise the very existence, “A whole week without random murder and …” she looks over at me with eyes that are suddenly i-h

idontthinkthatsacoloranymorebuticanhearitbreathe

“And corpse desecration. But you still have those supplies don’t you? Maybe that’s whats keeping it in your mind. You shouldn’t have brought them.” I look around and in the shock of whatever was her face all of the clutter has fallen off of my arms.

“Shut up Alice.” She is wearing a suit now, I think she took it from Tony’s closet but I don’t think he has any polka dot suits like that, especially not in yellow and green.

“Such rudeness. I don’t know why I put up with you, you , you murderer.” She’s crying now and my stomach has the audacity to feign the feeling of guilt.

“Then don’t. Just leave me alone.” I start to sketch her absentmindedly, with all of her expressions and dress sense. But I’m not looking at her and she stays quiet for a disturbing amount of time. A soft voice breaks that.

“I think you’re forgetting that I’m a figment of your own imagination, aren't you?” I look around and she is now rapidly changing face, her arms are snakes and her ears are bees, it’s all over after one of my heartbeats.

“Yeah.” I croak out, my throat gone dry, my teeth kinda went dry but only maybe.

“I might forgive you one day, you know that right Peter?” She gestures at the TV and I don’t hesitate to turn it on for her. My mind is still in a daze and she is the sharpest thing in this room of blurriness. Alice sits down to watch the original Starwars.

“Maybe Alice.” I add the shading to the polkadots on the hat, when I look back to Alice she is now wearing the Mary Poppins-esque hat. She gives a shark tooth grin.

“Anyways, You sure are glad that Stark is helping you out, even if unwillingly.” She starts to juggle, “But did he really think that adding more spots to the spidey watching apps would actually do the trick? Like I get it, but firing plushies from a tshirt cannon shouldn’t work.”

“It wouldn’t have worked If I was still there Alice.” Thinking about this is making me twitchy, a great longing, my mind drawn back to it.

_ She’s gone now, she won’t judge _

I look to the silent room, the ringing, the ringing the ringing. The breathing of Alice is gone, maybe it was never there, but the television is still on.

_ I was gone, and I am still here and she changed my brain I should watch her suffocate.  _

_ Slower the better _

I try to go about my morning routine, and generally manage to without breaking my toothbrush. My emotions are coiled tighter than a spring. I nearly tear the closet door off the hinges when I drop a hairbrush and can’t find it afterwards.

I almost miss her in a way, the familiar presence of someone along with me that I can talk to about anything, the only one I ever can.

_ The little monster, the horrible polka dot little bitch I should tear the throat off her look how fashion sense is she NOW _

I open the door to Happy’s face, and I can feel the vibrations of his breathing in my bones. He looks tired, and his heartbeat is normal.

“C’mon kid, lets go,” He seems to stop mid sentence, looking at my forehead, “to the car, but you have a hairbrush stuck to your head.” One of his eyebrows is raised as if he was trying to hold down laughter.

_ People who laugh at others are easy prey. I can kill them then Alice wont come and hurt my brain buticouldjustkillalicebutialreadydidbuthowcanikillhermore? _

“Oh” I manage, and try to grab the hairbrush by the handle, but it is stuck firmly to my scalp. With increasingly frantic tugging to the screaming voice’s tune I break the handle of the hairbrush off of it, “umm.”

“You can’t get it off of your head? I thought you had control over this Peter.”

“Well I’m nervous and excited about this conference with the top minds in the world so uhh yeah. It only works when I’m calm.”

“You’re usually calm?” He looks at me like I’m ridiculous, which I feel like I am, but that doesn’t matter.

“Yes…. ”

_ I miss the taste of blood, it tastes like iron, it kinda tastes like quarters should i eat quarters maybe I should buthenthequarters dontSCREAM andthescreamsarethe qoigftnsf;opihaednfmlkeij bestpartofthetaste Iamyouwhoismedontdenyhowmuchbettereverything justkillhimwhatifyoujustkilledhim. I would letme,youtheotherme, choosebut youneverseemtorealize how niceitistowatchtheheartstill ThEyERE sO LOUd HOWTHEHELL ARETHEYSO LOUD KILLHIMHISHEARTBEATISTOOLOUD _

_ INEEDINEEDINEEDINEED WHYWONTWEJUSTGETSOMEFUCKINGQUIET _

“Well relatively.” The breath has been knocked out of me, but the faintest sliver is overcoming the blackness that surrounds my periphery. The next time I try to tug it off my head my hand is left there stuck behind.

_ listenlistenlistenlisten everythinghurts and thiswillstopithowabout killhimpleasecanikill him? _

“How do you plan on,” he gestures at my struggles. But maybe he didn’t say that, I was reading his lips after all.

_ wecan’twecan’twecan’t why scream we can’t, we can lookathowweakhe is onewrongmove ooooo thatswhatiblamemyself on what if it was an “aCCIDENT?” _

“It’s like the hiccups.” Thats the closest truly, It will go away when I am unable to think about it but for now I have to realise how counterproductive squeezing the hairbrush to dust would be. But that part of me is quieter than ever.

_ Accidents are goodwhycantiagree whycantiagree. mR StaRK WoUlnT hATE me FOR IT anaccident ”BEYOND” mycontrol? _

“Well we have to go so, pretend to be brushing your hair and we can deal with this on the way.” I nod, and dutifully follow him.

We encounter the limousine outside, and even though I encounter countless strange stares we make it through the lobby. I enter the car for Mr. Stark to already be there, waiting.

_ Accidents accidents  _

“Hey kid …” He looks at me, “Did you get a hairbrush stuck to your head?”

_ does whatever an accident does _

“I-h”

_ Kill a friend? I don’t know  _

“Weird parts of being a Spider kid I guess.”

_ Look out for an “acccccidddeeennnnttt” _

-

“Now welcome our next guest, Maria Dreson!” The crowd goes wild as this woman walks onto the stage, then takes her place at the podium.

_ Killsomeone come on pleeeeease. Theyllknowwhoweareifwedowontthatmakeusfamous _

“Good morning everyone!” She presses a button on the podium, lowering down a large projector screen behind her.” My hands twitch, it hurts, and I-h-

I seemingly blink and the room is different. Now I’m standing in a sterile looking bathroom. I look to my watch, and the time is 10:23. I lost my sense of consciousness for almost an hour, hopefully I didn’t mess anything up.

Though I must have, as the iron tang of blood just makes itself apparent in my mouth. Feeling it I can focus on the other senses, the blood underneath my fingernails, the slight pulled muscle in my arm.

I look around the sterile bathroom. Well. It would have been sterile. I can clearly see the dried blood in the gout of the floor tiles. So I grab paper towels to start cleaning up evidence of the crime I don’t remember.

Soon the gout is clean, and my hands are too. I walk out of the bathroom to head back to the rest of the convention. I manage to sit back down next to Mr. Stark.

“Sorry.” I mumble, the lie pulling itself out of my mouth so smoothly that I cannot stop it, “Sensory overload. It’s better now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, I hope this is good enough for the wait!


	10. It breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> o h g o d

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -fin-

-Tony POV-

I follow the trail of blood, the killer seems to be getting progressively sloppier by the day. A small drop of blood that the police didn’t notice and I dared to follow alone.

This case is personal, If not to me, than to the child I practically consider a son. My stomach makes knots as I get progressively closer to the end of this lead, will I end up being able to control myself when I see the person who killed his aunt?

The warehouse is large, but FRI helpfully enables the thermal vision to a …. A sight that most definitely indicates the presence of heaps of corpses. The police are already called to the location when I enter through the smokestack.

The area is pitch black until my eyes adjust. There are definite sounds of liquid and I force myself to look upon the sight. There are piles, heaps even of twitching human bodies covered in enough blood to fill a swimming pool. I fail at forcing my mind not to think about how small some of those bodies are.

“So this is the famous Skeleton killer,” I say to the wastes, not truly guessing at a response. When I hear a reply however I whip around, hearing a deep growl that alerts me to the moving figure nearly as still as the dead looking at me. My eyes focusing first on the clothes, searching for signs of weapons, though there is none. All I can tell is the masculine nature of this figure, but even I could have mistaken that for any particularly tall or deep voiced person. His face and voice are somewhat blurred like all the others.

“You weren’t very hard to find, I mean really. Do you get your fame from the gruesomeness, because you certainly seem to be overcompensating for something.” The man is, nothing, just a piece of paper that I should toss into a bin. But something creeps me out of the blank white mask that suspiciously doesn’t cover the mouth.

“God, how do people worship something like you, you don’t even act like a human. You just destroy the pieces.” I turn to stare, he feels too familiar, though I can’t remember anyone. I can barely see more than the fluorescent white mask and the bloody teeth.

“I try to give you a nickname, but you just keep getting worse. If you’re the normal I can see why Thor actually cares about Reindeer games.” Too familiar. Who is this person? The smell threatens to bring up memories long forgotten, forgotten for good reason.

“No witty comebacks, no, well, no nothing?” His gaze burns each limb that it comes across, “Are you just going to stand there. Doing. Nothing?” It’s unnerving, that even though I know the police are on their way and anyone in their right mind would too this person is standing there so still.

“Now I believe that even the most screwed up guys out there can be redeemed. But you, you are a special case. I mean I thought you weren’t that bad.”

“Like murderer bad but. I thought you said you didn’t go after children.” It hit me too, the sympathy or empathy or whatever the fuck that saved the person I care most about is gone. It went on the national news, people don’t just forget a bus full of murdered children.

“I don’t.” the words come out as more of a growl than syllables, and he starts to walk, or maybe better described as a crawl towards me.

“And he talks! You sound like a fucking smoker” I feel my voice hoarse, for a reason that I can’t comprehend. I just let him approach slowly.

“And you’re not going to talk again, are you. Wait wait wait, you fucking hypocrite. Did you just say that you don’t kill kids? Really?”I just finish talking, saying the last few sounds when the man starts to dash at me. I hit him with a repulsor blast but it doesn’t stop him.

I play the fly, dodging his every move through the power of flight as he jumps up to me like a sickening cat. Each time I fire a repulsor blast he doesn’t even notice, seemingly the pain slides off him easier than anything else.

I dodge, back, forward, up, but it turned out to be a double cross. The little horror latches onto my boot and seemingly glues himself there, digging in his nails as I get desperate.

Hands dig off my armor and we’re falling, crashing into the ground with him on top of me, tearing through my electronics and through my skin. He tears off giant chunks of flesh as he tries to remove the rest of it, but then suddenly stops.

I try to scoot away, but a simple hand on my ankle has enough force to lock me in place, I can anticipate what will happen next. I am just a person in the way of a monster, one that arthurian legends would claim as a demon. Where the blasts landed there are enormous burnt dents in the seemingly robotic perfect skin.

He surgically places his hands on my legs, preparing obviously to snap it in half when he breaks out in a deep, maniacal belly laugh. And that's when I hear it.

A swat team enters the building, surrounding the killer as he just keeps laughing. The laughs turn to cries, then screams until something snaps.

A bullet passes through the brain, coming clean out of the other side and hitting the wall behind. Skelly falls limp onto my body, and I am freed of the destructive strength. I reach over in angry curiosity, my revenge sated, to lift the mask. To find out who did this to my kid all I have to do is look. My hand reaches out, I peel up the mask.

And vomit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this suitably creepy? And tips to write anything more disturbing put in the comments please! I hope you liked this! I'm sorry it ended so suddenly, but I just felt that it was dragging on and this was a better end.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me ideas or suggestions if you have any! I love comments and even if I don't respond imminently I do read them!


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